


Port Wine Reduction

by Tyger_Tyger



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Dom/sub Undertones, Humour, If You Squint - Freeform, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seriously this is just porn, Shameless Smut, but mainly smut, i suck at summaries, no redeeming features
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-07 02:50:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14661777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyger_Tyger/pseuds/Tyger_Tyger
Summary: Will gets off on occasionally wearing lingerie, and no one needs to know. Right? Let's keep it that way.Ooops! Well guess who was bound to find out over dinner...Shameless smut with no redeeming features. I apologise.





	Port Wine Reduction

It had been a stupid idea. A monumentally idiotic idea. But Will had done it anyway, because he was an idiot. And maybe there was that tiny part of him which had known exactly what he was doing and why the thrill was worth the risk, but that didn’t make his face blush any less or stop his eyes from just staring at Hannibal like a landed fish, his expression confirming the answer to a question Hannibal hadn’t even got around to asking yet. He’d already asked the what, and now didn’t need to ask the why because it might as well be a lit up neon sign above Will’s head. 

“The hair removal cream – do you use it just on your legs or elsewhere as well?”

And Hannibal merely smiled that small smile of his, raised an eyebrow at his own brilliant deduction and continued eating the forkful of food that had been suspended halfway between plate and mouth. Will wanted to crawl under the table and never emerge. Instead he put down his knife and fork and placed his hands on the table top, tried to push down the knot of fear and shame in his stomach that the question had caused to blossom.

Will knew it was a lost cause, and knew that Hannibal knew it too, but he could at least use the time that the correct social etiquette would provide to try to come up with something.

“What hair removal cream?”

Hannibal’s smile actually got bigger.

“The hair removal cream you have recently used. I can smell it – even the unperformed type you have purchased has a very distinctive odour.”

With any normal person Will could easily protest, come up with something else innocuous which may have a similar smell. But not with Hannibal ‘I can diagnose encephalitis with the power of my nose’ Lector. 

“Are you trying to invent an imagined scenario in which the smell could have been transferred to you from someone else?” Hannibal asked, enjoying himself far too much. “Of the women you are likely to have spent the day with – Alana goes to a salon for waxing and Ms. Katz shaves her legs.”

“How could you possibly -”

“I went to meet with Jack at his office recently and saw her running. She had a razor nick on her knee.” 

“Jesus Christ…”

“You haven’t answered my question, Will.”

“I don’t need to answer that question.” Will replied, hands subconsciously moving to grip the edge of the table. 

“You’re right, of course. You don’t need to answer that question. But I will inevitably draw my own conclusions, and your silence invites all kinds of interesting options for me to consider.” Hannibal calmly sliced through the steak in front of him, placing the fork between his lips while holding his head at a very jaunty angle. 

“Oh God.” Will said, defeated, covering his face with his hands. 

It had been so so stupid, and now Hannibal was bound to think the worst, bound to see it as something petty and beneath contempt, would think Will’s embarrassment was for the act itself and not for the context in which it was discovered. 

The first time he’d pulled on a pair of hold-ups he was hard before he’d even got one of them on, spent after barely touching himself just from how it looked in the mirror, how the nylon felt against his skin even through the hair. The first time he’d worn them with bare legs had been a revelation. He was very selective after that, buying silk stockings and suspender belts, smooth camisoles and ladies boxer-briefs. Nothing lacy, nothing flowery – that wasn’t what it was about. It was the pure sleek sexuality which radiated from the image, the idea of wearing something beautiful and hot for the sole purpose of getting off on it, the power in the potential of making someone else want to take it all apart.

He liked it, it was that simple. He liked the way he looked in the mirror, smooth satin of the suspender belt over his angular hips, black straps down to the dark tops of the stockings, the broad cotton briefs stretched tight and tightening over his cock, the delicate vest just a bit too tight across the plain of his chest. And it wasn’t something he did all the time. Just something he needed, sometimes. When his head was too full and he just wanted the off switch flicked, when he needed the lead-limbed sleep of coming down from a powerful orgasm. 

And it had been a really stupid idea to think that he could get away with any of that around Hannibal. 

“Would you like to hear my first theory? I’m afraid it does involve your mother.”

“No! Just – just give me a minute.” Will said from behind his hands. 

“Perhaps it would be easier for you to answer a series of simple questions, rather than have to divulge the entire story all at once.”

Will groaned. 

“What age were you when you first became aware of your attraction to wearing women’s clothing?” Hannibal asked, words clinical but eyes alight with humour.

“I don’t wear women’s clothes. Only the, er. Certain types of – underwear.” Will replied, face as red as the port sauce on his plate and voice getting trapped around the pronunciation of that last word. 

“I see.”

And there is was, that muted tone Will had been anticipating, the distaste around the vowels. 

“I don’t – it’s not like that, I only – sometimes, and God I know that sounds ridiculous…I just – like the aesthetic of the image it creates.” he said finally, because Hannibal wasn’t the only person here who knew how to touch the right buttons. 

“The aesthetic.” Hannibal repeated. 

“There’s something purely sexual about it, there’s a power there – and do you know what? Surprisingly, I’ve never thought too deeply about it and as much as I know you would love to I’m really not comfortable talking to my psychiatrist about it, ok?”

“I’m not your psychiatrist, Will.”

“Oh, of course. We’re just having ‘conversations’. Well, this is not going to be one of them.”

“You must appreciate my position, Will. I am now aware that you have chosen to come to a pre-arranged meal at my house wearing lingerie. I can’t help but wonder about your motivations.” 

Will felt his stomach do something between sinking and flipping over.

“Look, maybe I should just go, ok? I really don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Will,” Hannibal said, voice firm and suddenly lacking mirth, causing Will to pause halfway between sitting and standing. “Stay. Please.”

Will met Hannibal’s gaze who held it, face unreadable. 

“Please, finish your meal. Weren’t you telling me about the editor’s reply to your letter in a forensic journal?”

Will sat back down, and just like that Hannibal had changed the subject and was behaving as though none of that had just happened. 

Except it had, and as he talked about his rebuttal Will could see an uncharacteristic distance in Hannibal’s eyes, a distraction across his features. Will would have assumed that his sharp mind was simply preoccupied with weaving this new information into Hannibal’s impression of Will’s psyche. But there was something subtle in the turn of his mouth, the way his eyes kept dropping below Will’s chest. 

As though he wanted to know what Will was wearing. As though he was trying to imagine it.

And wasn’t that a dangerous thought. And once there it rooted bone deep, and Will was aware of the press and tug of the suspender straps against his thigh and the frictionless skim of his trousers over the silk, not with embarrassment but with a creeping burn building in his stomach. 

With their meal finished Hannibal poured the last of the wine. 

“Would you help me bring the plates into the kitchen please, Will?”

Will smiled and walked in front of him through the hallway. Hannibal was talking about wine and putting things away, but Will wasn’t listening to his words. He was intrigued by the way Hannibal was distracting his hands, keeping them busy in a way he only did when irritated or as close to nervous and Hannibal ever actually got. Will found himself drawn to it, moth-like. 

He slipped off his shoes and moved silently behind Hannibal to stand in front of the cupboard he was filling. Hannibal turned and froze with a start, took in the closeness and expression on Will’s face and blinked slowly, considering something Will couldn’t read. 

Some old anxiety in his mind warned him against misreading the situation, but there was something like desire in Hannibal’s eyes, and weren’t they always going to reach this point? Stood inches apart with open secrets freshly peeled between them. Will felt emboldened by the new skin Hannibal’s gaze gave him and stepped a breath closer. 

“What’s on your mind, Hannibal?” he asked, voice deeper than he had intended. 

“I want to see. Will you let me?” Lips almost touching and barely whispered, it felt like a suitable confession. 

“Yes.” Will replied, pressed his mouth to Hannibal’s and kissed him. Hannibal’s hand was at his jaw then, tilting his face to deepen the kiss and lick past his lips. His other hand slid down Will’s side, over his hip and he groaned softly into the kiss as he felt the suspender straps beneath the cotton. 

“Not here.” Will said, pulling back out of Hannibal’s embrace. “Bedroom.”

Something happened to Hannibal’s expression that Will couldn’t interpret. 

“Of course.” he said, and gestured for Will to follow him out of the kitchen. 

Hannibal’s bedroom was all greys and dark blues, luxurious in it’s simplicity. Hannibal sat on the end of the bed positioned in the middle of the long room. Will stood where he had stopped upon entering, in front of Hannibal but some way back, and not sure what he was supposed to do next. He took off the shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt and dropped it on the floor beside him, half expecting Hannibal to pick it up and neatly put it somewhere. 

But Hannibal only continued to look at him, expression open and calm. Will pulled his t-shirt over his head in a way that he knew would emphasise the narrowing of his waist. Underneath he wore a red mesh camisole with a satin trim. He undid his trousers and let the weight of the belt drop them to pool around his feet before he stepped out of them. 

This he was familiar with, had done it many times in front of the mirror imagining someone was watching, until he took himself in hand. That was the part of the fantasy he couldn’t make eye contact with. But he wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen now, and after a few moments of staring at the floor the sexualised confidence this always gave him began to fade as he started to feel like just a half naked guy stood in his friend’s bedroom. 

“Will.” Hannibal said softly. He looked up. Hannibal’s mouth was soft around words he wasn’t speaking, his eyes narrowed slightly with want. Will stood a little taller, put his weight on one foot to angle his hips.

“Yes, Dr Lector?”

“You look magnificent.”

Will smiled, half shy and half relieved by the sincerity in his voice.

“Am I the first person to see you like this?” he asked. Will nodded quickly, looking down at the floor again. “I’m honoured.”

And that was just a little too much. Will ran his hand through his hair and shifted on his feet.

“So why don’t you come over here then?” he said, words faster that he’d intended. 

Hannibal stood and approached him, held out a hand to hover above his hip as though waiting for permission. Will moved the couple of inches to meet him, and Hannibal’s fingers brushed over the taut satin of the suspender belt before slowly moving lower until they touched the skin on his upper thigh. Will inhaled a sharp breath. 

“Do you have shoes to wear with this?” Hannibal asked softly.

“No,” Will replied, trying to get the words straight in his head. “That, er. Seemed like taking it a bit far. This,” he said, gesturing to the underwear, “This is enough for me.”

“Really.” Hannibal said, eyes narrowing slightly as he brought his other hand to mirror his actions on Will’s opposite thigh. “With the right heels you would be taller than me, I think. I would have to look up to meet your eye.”

With that Hannibal slowly lowered himself to his knees, tracing his hands down the backs of Will’s legs as he looked up through his eyelashes.

“Jesus Christ, Hannibal.” Will muttered, covering his face with his hand, but removing it just as quickly so he could look down at Hannibal as he moved to grip Will’s hips and pressed his face gently against the small briefs. Hannibal mouthed at the head of Will’s hardening cock, nudged it higher so it sat directly beneath the waistband. He pulled the elastic taut and Will murmured something incoherent. And then he was pulling them down, gripping Will’s cock between strong fingers. 

He licked his tongue in a point from base to tip, then suddenly took Will into the wet warmth of his mouth, pressing forward until his forehead was against the tense wall of Will’s stomach. Will felt engulfed, taken over by the sensation, the sharp spike of pleasure and the dull spread of need soaking through his skin. He grabbed Hannibal’s shoulders to stop his knees from buckling out beneath him, and Hannibal was moving then, drawing the pressure down his cock as he pulled away, curling his tongue over the head, lips tightening as he made his way back again, swallowing him in. 

It was too much, too fast, too good. Will made a low noise that got caught in his throat and let his head fall back. Hannibal worked his cock with his tongue, pulled back to grip the base with one hand as the other gripped Will’s ass around the elastic of the straps. And then suddenly Hannibal was tugging him forward, turning him to face the other side of the room while still sucking at the head of his cock, and Will had to grab hold of Hannibal to steady himself and look up to keep his balance.

And he was looking straight into a mirror stretching floor to ceiling, seeing his own body taut with desire and want, the pale flesh between the tops of the stockings where the panties had been bunched and the edge of the belt, one hand brushing over the mesh camisole and gripped around a nipple, and – Hannibal. Kneeling in front of him, fingers gripping at Will’s hips as his head moved up and down on his cock. He worked the shaft with a strong hand as he pulled back, looked up at Will with his mouth wet around the hint of teeth. Will was speechless, gasping at the pleasure knotting in his stomach. 

“God, Hannibal.” he almost whined, running his fingers through the other man’s hair as he looked up at him with that half smile.

“Yes.” he said quietly, and sank his mouth back around Will’s cock, continuing to pump up and down while his other hand ghosted over the skin exposed between the items of lingerie. 

And he wanted to hold onto it, to make it last longer or forever or some other length of time which he couldn’t comprehend. He couldn’t focus on anything else except the sliding pressure of Hannibal’s lips, the soft persistence of his tongue, and it built inside him like sparks, like glass cracking before it breaks and then he was coming and Hannibal was swallowing him through it, taking the weight of his hips as Will sagged forward, as he exhaled a staccato of gasps and sounds. 

Hannibal gently slid Will out of his mouth, his lips brushing brief kisses all the way along his shaft before he gently pulled the briefs back up into place, tucked beneath the suspender belt. 

Will’s breath was heavy and fast and he lifted a hand to brush through Hannibal’s hair before catching himself, his fingers hovering inches away from his head.

Hannibal stood up, wiped his thumb along his own lips as though catching a stray drop of come that wasn’t actually there. He half smiled before pressing a chaste kiss to Will’s mouth. 

“You are irresistible like this.” he whispered as their foreheads touched and Will closed his eyes around a sharp inhale of breath. It was too much, Will felt ripped apart like an exposed nerve, shucked open. He felt a sob creeping up his throat, his legs shaking with the need to run while he wanted to curl closer into Hannibal’s arms, let his hands hold him tighter in their warm grasp. 

Hannibal pressed Will’s temple gently into his shoulder, made quietly reassuring sounds as the breath stuttered noisily from Will. It should feel so wrong, all of this. Will’s eyes grew wet because it didn’t.

 

Living in the middle of nowhere usually had it’s benefits, mainly that it meant Will was pretty much in control of the amount of daily social interactions he had to deal with. It also meant that postal deliveries too big for the box usually got left on the back porch, with a note explaining pushed through the front door if the guy was particularly efficient. So getting a card to say he had a parcel at the depot which wasn’t delivered because it required a signature was a rare occurrence for Will, especially as he generally arranged to be in when he was expecting something.

Thankfully the staff at the collection depot were indifferent enough not to trigger any of his basic social anxieties, and he was in and out quickly even after double checking the address was right seeing as he hadn’t ordered anything lately. The inconvenience of collecting it still outweighed his curiosity, so once he got home he continued his evening as normal. Walked the dogs while the fish stew cooked, marked some papers, returned a couple of times to the desk where he had fanned out photos of the latest crime scene Jack had sent him. He’d almost forgotten the box was even on the bed where he’d dropped it earlier.

His pocketknife slid easily through the packaging tape, and he was surprised by the tissue paper inside. Beneath that was another box, this one a pale tan colour with an elaborate French name and the word Paris on the top. Frowning, he lifted the lid and opened the red fabric bag inside to find patent leather stilettos, and realised this must be an order sent in error to the wrong address. These shoes were beyond anything even Alana would wear, shining black like some exotic beetle wing with blood red soles. He was about to repackage the whole thing and look for a returns invoice, but something subtle and hungry in him stirred and he wanted to hold them, feel the weight of one on his palm, and it was only then he realised how unrealistically large they seemed, far too big for most women. And then he froze.

His fingers were shaking as he scrabbled through the tissue paper, gripped too tight around the small black card he found. On it was Hannibal’s distinct writing in silver ink.

‘For next time, if you will permit me. – H’


End file.
